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So Much For the Shack

Small, green, hot, stuffy, dusty, primitive, gross. For eleven years this little seemingly ancient shack, apparently a beach house, had been our home away from home when we went to Bethany Beach every summer. This hut did not have air conditioning, electricity or indoor showers. My mother and I hated it, and the only reason…

Toad

July 23rd, 1999. Durham, North Carolina – one of the hottest days since I had been at the American Dance Festival. Appropriate. As quickly as it had come, it had ended. I would soon be thrown back into what was painfully familiar to me. The only difference being that I now refused to accept it as actually being “my life.” What a difference one month can make! In four weeks a 12-year old boy could perfect his grande jete entournant, a Texan could enjoy a bowl of New England Clam Chowder, and a sheltered girl from Baltimore could fall in love.

Ants Like Rain, Fucko!
(Shoulda gone marching before the storm)

All that I can really say about this is that it happened after about 50 or so hours of consciousness, and I was staring out of the window that was directly in front of me fixated on a single leaf on a bush across the street that had water dripping off of it because it had been raining earlier that day. It’s like… Traditional Americana meets John Coltrane and Chick Corea in an opium den. Yes. I will go with that.

Waiting at the Gate

I have only done specifically creepy shots for Halloween a small number of times. I’m not good with the deadlines the surround holiday-themed photography because I can’t get in the mood until we’re right up on the holiday and then there’s no way in hell I’m going to be able to edit in time for the photos not to be all sad and pathetic and late, so often it just doesn’t happen. But every so often, I get lucky. This year, the luck, dammit!

My Place

From far across the great divide
I see what it might turn out to be
Once I fall into the chasm
Once I finally find my place

Sure enough, the coast is clear but
I cannot take a single step
Strangled by a lingering stigma
Keeping me from finding my place

For You

Night’s shadows prowl about
Your presence keeps me unphased by the darkness
Not fearing
Not hearing the horrors of the world that surround
Fixed in one warm position
Longing that the night would never end

Requiem for Yesterday

Stoplight waltz and the way you said things
Words danced gracefully off the tip of your tongue
Charisma, baby, you’ve got it
And your eyes are drowning in it